by Chris Frantz
Coming off the stage, Frederic Serfati, our favorite promoter in the world, was waiting. “Great show!” he exclaimed. I told him what had happened with the Rolling Stone and the white powder. Frederic said that as punishment he would not allow that particular rock star into the wonderful party he had planned for after the show.
The party was at Frederic’s good friend Bernard Ossude’s grandfather’s grand Hotel Particulier in the center of Paris. Bernard was a friend and fan of ours, too, as was his beautiful sister, Diane, who we’d met at Compass Point when she was visiting Chris Blackwell and Natalie Delon. Their grandfather was the great art deco painter and sculptor Bernard Boutet de Monvel, and their great-grandfather, Maurice Boutet de Monvel, was renowned for his illustrations, particularly those he made of Joan of Arc. Part of their personal collection recently sold at auction for thirteen million dollars.
The party was fabulous. On this warm July night, in the inner courtyard of their home, surrounded by art and flowers, we partied in grand style with the belle monde of Paris. Tina was the belle of the ball, although Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson of the B-52s were getting plenty of attention, too. Johnny Pigozzi took our photo for his vast collection of snapshots. What a wild night it was! Max Bell from the UK reported all about it in the New Musical Express. The article was called “Americans in Paris,” but pictured only David, who still held a Scottish passport, on the cover. We didn’t really care. We thought what was good for David was good for Talking Heads. Was that so naïve?
Next stop: Tokyo! We flew to Tokyo on Japan Air with a brief stop in Moscow for refueling. We had to get off the plane and spend an hour in the transit section of Moscow airport where it was mandatory to change at least ten dollars into rubles. If you used the bathrooms, which had no fixtures but only a hole in the floor, that cost you five dollars. Everyone who worked there had warts on their faces. I couldn’t wait to get back on the plane to the lovely, sweet Japanese flight attendants and their never-ending supply of sake and sushi.
Arriving in Tokyo, we were met by our promoter Hiroshi Asada and his right-hand man, Ken Watanabe, not to be confused with the actor. These guys were young, smart, and hip, just the way we liked our promoters to be. Just one thing went wrong. While the band had all the proper visas and work permits, Gary had forgotten to get a visa so they put him on a plane to Seoul, South Korea, where he had to go to the US Embassy and pay for a rush job of the necessary paperwork and then fly back to Japan. When it comes to immigration, the Japanese do not play. Our crew, Frank Gallagher and Ace Penna, made the arrangements for our gear while we climbed into a very comfortable transit van with Hiroshi and Ken. It was a long ride to the hotel, but when we arrived we were greeted by dozens of cute young Japanese fans. This had never happened to our band before. It was like mini-Beatlemania. We sat in the hotel restaurant and recharged our batteries with more sake and tempura before Tina and I took the elevator upstairs and collapsed exhausted into our very inviting hotel bed.
The next day was a press and photo day. Everything was very well organized by the record company. There was a lot of interest in Talking Heads. We appeared on TV and radio, and when Gary finally arrived from Korea, we were scheduled for dinner with the record company. These were the top executives at Warner-Pioneer. They took us to a very private restaurant where you roll your own sushi and drink while sitting on tatami mats, surrounded by shoji screens. The men were delighted to see Tina fearlessly swallow a live wriggling shrimp. Tina was becoming a very adventurous eater. After much laughter and toasting, when we stood up to leave, Gary fell over backward through the shoji screen and into the party seated next to us. The Japanese people, including the party Gary landed on, thought this was hilarious. Gary was mortified, but one of our record company guys explained that Japanese people are so regimented and formal that they take great pleasure in seeing other people acting up when they’ve had too much to drink. Not to worry.
The design crew, who designed the souvenir concert program for the tour, came to our hotel to show it to us. We all liked what they had done. Their names were Toshi Nakanishi, Chica Sato, and Hajime Tachibana. They were super stylish and charming and they were starting a band called Plastics. We were invited to go to their studio to jam. Well, we don’t usually go to jam with people we don’t know, but this was a hoot. When we got to their studio it was really tiny and full of bright plastic toy instruments. Those were what we jammed on and we really had a good time with them. The sound of the toy instrument jam was cute but mind-boggling, especially with a bad case of jet lag. They have remained our good friends over the years, although sadly, Toshi recently died. When we think of Japan, we think of Plastics.
The shows were great. As is the custom in Japan, we played some matinees as well as nighttime shows in lovely modern theaters, except for in Kyoto, where we played a very funky, deconsecrated temple near the university campus. We spent the night in a very traditional country inn where the men are separated from women. All the men sleep in one room and the women sleep in another. Gary hated that arrangement, not to mention having to sleep on tatami mats with little adzuki bean-filled pillows.
We returned to Tokyo on the high-speed bullet train for some more shows. Ace was overjoyed to find his Haliburton briefcase full of cash, thousands of dollars, exactly where he had left it on the platform of the train station. The cash inside was untouched. Incredible.
After checking into our hotel, I decided to go up to the bar on the top floor for a drink. It was a very quiet scene in the bar with only one other customer: Iggy Pop. I had seen Iggy around New York, but we had never properly met until now. I introduced myself and he invited me to sit next to him at the bar. He was on a promotional tour and not doing any live shows. We talked a little about David Bowie and Brian Eno, but what Iggy really wanted to talk about was arms dealing, drug dealing, and money laundering. Some of his ideas sounded like nutty conspiracy theories to me, that our government could be involved in such things, but they all turned out to be true. Iggy is no fool and he could really hold his scotch.
We really hated to leave Japan. If you’ve ever been, you know why. It’s the people and their hospitality. For a traveler, this means everything. Also, they have a great appreciation of all the American arts, particularly our music. When Tina and I walked through the park near our hotel on a Saturday afternoon, we were surprised to see all Japanese doo-wop groups, rockabilly bands, soul singers, and jazz cats busking for crowds of people who were dressed in the same style costumes as the bands. They were having a crazy good time and the bands all sounded very true to the originals.
We had a gig booked in Honolulu so that we could spend a couple of days in Hawaii on the way home. Our hotel was right on Waikiki Beach. It was almost sunset when we checked in and, while Tina was freshening up, I decided to take a walk on the beach. The sun was going down and there were plenty of people walking the beach. A young Hawaiian teenager approached me and asked in a friendly way if I was looking for “Da Kine.” This was the best strain of Hawaiian marijuana. I had some per diems in my pocket so I said, “Sure, just a little bit.” Before I knew it, a big guy was poking a knife in my back and telling me to hand over my cash, my wallet, and the new watch I had just purchased in Tokyo. I said, “You must be joking.” He poked me a little harder with the knife and said, “Does it feel like I’m joking?” Feeling like a fool, I gave him what he wanted. A few days later, the Honolulu police called me to let me know they had my wallet. They caught the thief trying to use my credit card. He was going to jail. We definitely weren’t in Japan anymore.
43
REMAIN IN LIGHT
Remain in Light, considered by many to be Talking Heads’ greatest record, and by some to be one of the greatest recordings of all time, almost didn’t happen. After the final show of the Fear of Music tour in Munich on December 19, 1979, we agreed to speak to an independent journalist who had traveled to see us from somewhere behind the Iron Curtain. I remember that his breath was very bad. He opened wi
th the question, “What are you going to do now that David is leaving the band?” David had already spoken to him privately and told him this. Tina and Jerry and I explained to the journalist that we knew nothing about it and left it at that. Everyone was exhausted. We really needed a break and none of us wanted to deal with David’s hurtful behavior. It had been a very fruitful and positive year for us. Christmas was coming. It was time for reflection and celebration.
After the holidays, I got a call from David asking if I would play drums on a basic track for a thing he was doing with Brian Eno. Tina thought that, to keep channels of communication open, I should do it. Jerry was nonplussed. So I went downtown to the studio, where I found David, Brian, Robert Fripp, and Busta “Cherry” Jones. We had met Busta before. He was a friend of Gary’s who had played bass on some of Eno’s records and had a band with Chris Spedding called Sharks. Busta was a very funky cat from Memphis, Tennessee. When I asked him why he called himself Busta “Cherry” Jones he answered with a grin, “Why do you think?” We were asked to lay down a long, funky groove. Busta and I dug in deep and did that very well, I think. Fripp, all the while, was playing his Frippertronics with style, finesse, and with perfect posture while sitting on a high stool. The song would eventually be called “Regiment” on the Byrne/Eno album My Life in the Bush of Ghosts. David and Brian then decamped to San Francisco to make the rest of that album and we didn’t hear any news from either of them for some months. Tina and I often wondered what they were up to out there.
It was usually up to me to be the person who reminded everyone in the band that it was time to make another record. Tina was ready. Jerry was ready. I was certainly ready. David and Brian, not so much. They were both back in New York, but evidently—and unbeknownst to us—some problem had occurred between them while they were making their album in San Francisco. When I called David, he expressed no interest in making another album with us. I called Brian and he said he wasn’t interested in producing another album with us. What to do? Tina, Jerry, and I began improvising in our loft and recording everything on our Sony boom box for reference. After a couple of days, we had a few early scraps of songs that sounded very promising. Then Tina had an idea. She called Brian at his apartment on Eighth Street. She said, “Hi, Brian. I’m having a jam session with Chris and Jerry here in our loft. Why don’t you come over and join us?” Brian said, “But Tina, you know I can’t play any instruments.” Tina told him, “It doesn’t matter, Brian. We’re just having fun. We’re not going to judge your musicianship.” Brian thought about it for a moment and said, “I’ll be right over.”
After jamming a few tunes with Brian, there was a good energy in the room and everyone was having a marvelous time. Then Tina called up David and said, “Hi, David. Brian’s over here jamming with us and it’s really great. Come on over!” David put down whatever he was doing and came to our place, guitar in hand, within the hour. Psychology is a funny thing, no?
Now things were starting to get interesting. I kept recording these little jams, and by nighttime we took a break to listen back. You could hear all kinds of interesting parts germinating, mutating, and evolving. There was nothing commercial or predictable about these little jams and, as we listened back, you could see smiles of surprise coming over our faces. There was just no denying that Talking Heads still had a great chemistry going on and the beats were good. You could dance to it!
We continued jamming for a week with very inspiring, if unpolished results. The creation of the song “I Zimbra” had pointed us in a new direction. The sound we were creating was a little bit art school, a little bit modern, and had a healthy dose of swinging African and Afro-American polyrhythms.
I suggested we ask Gary to book Compass Point. This time no one disagreed. We were all on board. David talked about how he would like to get away from the idea of the lead singer being in a dominant position. He felt that no one was more important than anyone else and the band should be presented as equals, which was surprising considering the way he usually treated the rest of us. This was music to my ears. Eno chimed in that we should use the recording studio as a tool for writing. He also said he would like to be treated as a fifth member of the band. We welcomed that idea. Since no real songs were written when we arrived at Compass Point to record, this is how we would proceed. The music would be created by the band members out of improvisation. All four members and Brian would be credited as writers. This was our verbal agreement going forward.
It was so sweet to be back at Compass Point. A second studio, Studio B, had been built and that’s where we set up. Studio B was brand new and the Jamaican Chinese studio designer Chow, who had designed all of the Island Records studios, was on hand to make sure there were no problems. AC/DC was in Studio A with Mutt Lange recording Back in Black. Malcolm, Angus, Cliff, and Phil were lovely guys and this was their first recording with their new lead singer, Brian Johnson, after the death of Bon Scott. Brian had to take a break after screeching each line or he’d develop a migraine. He was under a lot of pressure as the new guy and when he signed on he didn’t know he would be expected not only to sing but also to write the lyrics. He did a fantastic job. Back in Black became the third-best-selling album of all time.
In Studio B, record sales were the farthest thing from our minds. We began by jamming together in the studio. It felt good to be working with Rhett Davies again. He was the guy who recorded and mixed More Songs About Buildings and Food. Weirdly, after only three days of recording, Rhett announced he was leaving. When I asked him why, Rhett said, “Every time you play something that sounds like it could be a hit, Brian says it sounds too commercial and nixes it. You could be a great pop group, but he won’t allow you.” Well, we were in accord with Brian. We loved pop music, we really did, but now we were interested in creating sounds that would take us deeper and far beyond what people had come to expect from us.
Brian suggested we call Dave Jerden, who had worked with Brian and David in San Francisco, and we all agreed to that. In the meantime, we would record with a young Jamaican guy named Steven Stanley behind the board. Steven, skinny as a beanpole with a huge puffy Afro hairdo, was only twenty-one years old, but already had a wealth of experience recording reggae music. They called him Youthsound. It was Stevie who recorded the basic track for what would become “Once in a Lifetime.” We could have easily continued with Stevie as engineer, but when he would say, “Jerry, play for me,” Jerry would just sit there not realizing he was being spoken to. The same thing would happen with David. Stevie’s patois was just too difficult for them to understand. I guess they hadn’t listened to as many reggae records as Tina and I: We understood him perfectly.
Dave Jerden came quickly to Nassau. He was a fun but no-nonsense guy and a seriously gifted engineer. Tina and Jerry and I took to him right away. Goodbye, Rhett. Hello, Dave.
My personal challenge and Tina’s was to conceive and perform rhythm parts that not only grooved like crazy and propelled the song forward, but that also sounded shockingly new. Each song called for a unique part from us that bore no resemblance to any part we’d played before. Because there was no predetermined song structure or lyric, we had no idea where the verses and choruses and instrumental sections might be. So Tina and I created parts that were loops performed live. Then David and Jerry could superimpose their parts over ours. It was a very exciting process that required a lot of forethought. We could not simply revert to the tried-and-true chord progressions and familiar patterns of rock and roll. The fact that Tina and I were married and members of the same band did not mean that we agreed on every single thing, but we always had the band’s best interests in mind. In fact, we sometimes made great sacrifices for the better of the band. I believe that Tina did this for me, because she knew how important Talking Heads was to me.
Some journalists have written about interpersonal squabbles during the recording at Compass Point. I don’t know where they got that information. While the recording process was very challenging, everyone inv
olved rose to the occasion. It was important to be supportive of one another. Our friend Robert Palmer and his drummer, Dony Wynn, dropped in from time to time and joined in on some group percussion parts and handclapping, but otherwise all the playing on the basic tracks was by the four core members of the band.
At the end of the Compass Point sessions, David told all of us that he felt he needed more time to work on the lyrics. We were fine with that. We understood and we told him to take his time. Tina and I had a brief moment alone with Brian on the lawn in front of the studio. The sun was shining. The sea breeze was gentle and warm. I told Brian, “I’d like to thank you for being part of this project. We know your involvement made a big difference.” I was struck by Brian’s tepid response, as if he’d rather not be part of this conversation. This was surprising to me. It was as if he were disconnecting from me.
When Talking Heads made a record, we insisted on paying for the recording costs with our own savings. Ultimately, this could be well over one hundred thousand dollars and that did not include airfare, perdiems, and accomodations. We didn’t send Warner or Sire the studio bills. That way, the record company could not bother us by coming around the studio to see what was happening with their money. They couldn’t say they didn’t hear a hit single. We would deliver to them the finished product. So, for Remain in Light and every other Talking Heads record, each band member paid 25 percent of the costs. That meant that “Chris and Tina” combined paid 50 percent of the recording costs. When the Remain in Light sessions resumed at Sigma Sound in the old Ed Sullivan Theater building in New York, this fact made David and Brian’s attitude toward Tina and me truly appalling. It seemed as if they thought of us as sidemen who were no longer useful to them. At one point Brian actually said to us—in his most bothered tone of voice—“There are too many people in the control room.” He was telling us to get out of our own recording session. David was complicit by saying nothing. Now that they had these groundbreaking tracks created by Tina and me together with David and Jerry to work with, they were now pushing us out of the picture. This felt hurtful. Clearly, David had forgotten his earlier statement that no band member was more important than any other. Now it was all about him and Brian, but mostly him. Their treatment of Tina was especially disrespectful: it was breaking her heart and in turn, my own. We turned instead to creating the album sleeve.